


aches and pains

by call_me_steve



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Batman and Robin (2009), Brotherly Bonding, Damian Wayne Feels, Dick Grayson is Batman, Gen, Healing, Hurt Damian Wayne, Hurt/Comfort, Recovery, aftermath of damian getting his spine replaced, they talk about what bruce's clone (?) said
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:47:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24100792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/call_me_steve/pseuds/call_me_steve
Summary: In the aftermath of Damian getting his spine replaced and Dick's attempted revival of Bruce via the pits, Damian angsts over what Bruce's clone had told him. All the while, his back continues to ache.(Things don't always heal on their own, after all.)
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne
Comments: 2
Kudos: 170





	aches and pains

**Author's Note:**

> hot off the press, unbetaed AND unedited. i wanna make this a series about how the whole 'oh yeah my SPINE got replaced, nbd' really effects damian, bcuz, HELLO. my Ass it doesn't effect him one bit. gdmn. 
> 
> i need more fics like this, if i'm being honest. where a r e they. 
> 
> (tumblr: [potato-reblob](https://potato-reblob.tumblr.com/))

The cast around his neck is snug, but it feels all the more restrictive the more days that pass. Two weeks was the limit- he was only meant to wear the damn cast for _two weeks-_ but Grayson’s plan to resurrect their father had landed him with more time in his stupid wheel chair. Father’s _clone-_ at least, that was what Grayson was calling him- had tossed Damian around like a rag-doll, agitated his back, and had ruined it. 

Two weeks turned into four, turned into five if Damian didn’t sit still. 

Getting out of the wheelchair, when the clone had attacked, had already promised an extra week. _Throwing_ the chair and rushing around the Batbunker without it, _and_ swinging to the rooftop where Grayson was, was the final straw. 

Like the aching of his back and his spine wasn’t enough punishment as is. 

Even now, as Damian contemplates breaking something- he’s been stuck in the penthouse for days, by himself as Grayson either sleeps the day away or rushes out at night to do patrols. He’s going stir crazy- his back still screams at him. He’s laying in his room, Grayson probably squirreled away at the monitors down in the bunker, and hating each and every little crease in the ceiling. Grayson _had_ promised- once they’d figured that Father’s body wasn’t _his,_ and that Father _had_ to be alive- that he wouldn’t continue forth with their investigation without Damian by his side. 

Of course, he really _should_ continue with it. At this point, they’re just punishing _Father_ too, keeping him locked away in the past. 

“Just call _Drake,_ ” Damian had sneered, when Grayson first said he’d wait. “ _He_ can be your blasted _Robin_ while I waste away in this _chair._ ” 

Grayson had squirmed upon the mention of his younger brother- and the previous Robin- but had said that, as much as he’d like to patrol with Drake, Drake was still taking time away from Grayson. “Besides,” he’d said, “this is _our_ job- to bring B back. It’s always _you and me,_ kiddo.” 

Sure. Once _Father_ came back, there was no _way_ that it’d still be _‘you and me’._ Grayson was positively _dying_ to get out of the cowl and back into his own skin again, and Damian wasn’t so sure that Father would appreciate Damian staying as Robin. He’d probably go call up Drake and give him back the R- the R that Damian had worked so _hard_ to deserve, the R that _had_ to be Damian’s, because it felt like it was all he had left. 

He wants to get up. He wants to get out of bed and march downstairs and _scream_ at Grayson, but his body aches and he’s certain he’ll only flounder like a fish attempting to get up. 

No matter what Grayson said- even if he _did_ claim that Father wanted Damian- Father’s _clone_ had said differently. And, besides, Father’s clone certainly should have spoken the truth. 

It was one that even _Damian_ knew. 

He was Bruce Wayne’s biggest mistake, and he would forever _be_ Bruce Wayne’s biggest mistake, until the point in time where Damian finally got to _prove_ to his father that he wasn’t a screw up like _Jason Todd-_ that he _wasn’t_ a mistake-

At times like these, Damian found himself wishing- ever so selfishly _wishing-_ that it’d just be him and Grayson, forever as Batman and Robin. 

Against all odds, Damian pushes himself up into a sitting position. He shoves down his groan as something flashes through his back. To ward off the pain, he grips his bed sheets and glares at the wheelchair sitting beside his bed- _mocking him_ each time he has to look at it. 

_You’re weak,_ it says, _you’re no_ Alexander. _You’re weak._

He allowed himself to get hurt for a girl who’d hated his guts, allowed himself to get shot because he hadn’t been able to save her the first time. He hadn’t even been able to save her the _second_ time around, before three bullets had lodged themselves in his spine, sending him off to get a whole new spine in its place. 

At least he hadn’t had to talk to Mother for long- had he stayed beside her any longer, she’d have told him that herself. He didn’t need to hear her snark about how he shouldn’t have _cared_ about the girl, about how _caring_ is a _weakness,_ and it could’ve gotten him killed. 

He doesn’t feel like himself with this spine in his body, with these organs that aren’t really his. His body parts have been replaced more times than he can count. The heart that lies in his chest might not even be _his_ heart. His mother took his body and sewed it together with better parts, better _pieces-_

Damian never knew his _spine_ would be taken, too. 

Now that he’s sitting, he gets to work throwing his legs over the side of the bed. Standing will only be a foolish move and will only be enough to send him crumpling to the floor. With effort and another swallowed moan, he manages, now sitting facing the door. His fingertips are going white with how hard he’s fisting his blankets. He can’t bring himself to care. 

Damian uses his foot to pull his wheelchair close enough to him so he can slip inside- normally an easier feat. It seems today is a bad day, from his mood to the cries of his aching spine. The wheels don’t dare squeak over the carpet- this chair is from the _League of Assassins,_ as is his new spine, so it’s the very best of the best. When he feels it’s right where he wants it, he anchors his feet on the ground and moves his hands to grip the chair’s arms. He stands, gritting his teeth hard enough that he thinks he can _hear_ it, and quickly maneuvers to drop himself into it’s seat. As much as he wants to lean his head back, the cast around his neck makes it awkward to do. If it wouldn’t impede in the healing process, he’d rip it off and burn it- hell, he still _wants to,_ he wants to bury his hands into it’s stiff form and tear at it with all he’s got, because all it is is more _proof_ that Damian is _weak._

He’s in the chair, though. 

He’s in the goddamn chair and he did it himself.

As exhausted as he already is, he gets to work wheeling himself over to the elevator. It’ll take him straight down to the bunker, where he’ll hopefully run into Grayson before he disappears for patrol.

He’s angry and pissed and _hurting_ and _sore,_ and he _hopes_ that Grayson is lagging behind in his schedule. Damian wants to tear into _him_ too, to tell him that Damian _isn’t weak,_ that Grayson shouldn’t mock him and write him off, to ignore the problem at hand by pushing everyone away again.

It’s almost laughably easy to get into the elevator, compared to getting into the chair. Once the elevator starts moving, Damian starts compiling himself a script- 

The script falls flat as soon as he wheels himself into the bunker and onto the platform that houses the monitors. There’s no way he’s making it down the stairs to where the batmobile is parked, but he doesn’t have to. Grayson looks up from his spot beside the car, where he’s talking to Pennyworth- who also looks to Damian, when the elevator doors shut behind him. 

“What are you doing out of bed, kiddo?” Grayson asks, already starting towards the stairs. 

“Not any _strenuous activity,_ ” Damian snarks. Every single previous thought of wanting to scream and yell and _destroy_ is lost on him once he sees Grayson. The cowl’s pulled down from his face, his hair sticking up at odd angles. There are bags under his eyes from tackling Gotham’s streets by himself, bandages wrapped around his bare knuckles. His gloves lie in the crook of his armpit, for some reason. 

When Grayson kneels down before Damian, Damian pulls his face into a sneer. That anger is still there, boiling in his belly, but he- for some odd reason- doesn’t want to scream at Grayson anymore. 

He only exchanges a greeting of _Grayson,_ and gets a _Dames_ in return. 

“If you wanted out of bed,” he says, “you could’ve asked me or Alfie to help yo-” 

“I do not need to be _coddled,_ ” Damian can’t help but spit out. “I’m not a goddamn _invalid-_ ” 

“There’s nothing wrong with needing help,” Dick says back, far too quickly. He’s still patient as ever, and there’s no heat behind his words- only _honesty_ that Damian itches to yell at. “Why’d you come all the way down here?” 

_Certainly not to see_ you, he thinks. _You and your goddamn_ coddling _like I’m a baby in need of protecting._

His mouth works before his brain, and he ends up saying, “I can’t sleep, so I came to see if you’d finally gotten yourself _killed._ ” 

“Can’t sleep, huh?” Grayson says, clearly ignoring the second half of his sentence. Even so, Damian still feels foolish for saying it- they’ve come a long way from Damian sneering about Grayson wearing the cowl and making threats left and right. Damian’s better than that. He _knows_ he’s better than that-

And yet, Father’s clone’s words ring in his head: _You’re my biggest mistake._

It’s true. Damian’s nothing more than a weak, foolish mistake. 

With Grayson looking him in the eyes, Damian’s almost worried that he can see right through him. He levels Grayson with a heavy glare to ward off his internal fears, daring him to say something. He regrets coming down here. He regrets coming to talk to Grayson, he _regrets_ not being able to yell and scream like he wants to. 

Damian should’ve stayed in bed, and so he says, “I think I’ll return to sleep. Nothing can be more _nightmare-ish_ than your face.” He grips the wheels, and turns himself back towards the elevator, when Grayson grabs at the handles on the back of the chair. 

“I actually wanted to talk to you,” he says, reaching over to press the _up_ button. He turns back to Pennyworth and says something, before he steps forward with Damian into the elevator. 

“What about _patrol?_ ” Damian asks, biting down his following, _are you that useless of a Batman?_

“Gotham can survive one night. They’ve got Batwoman running around for a bit, anyway, and she’s _ruthless._ ” Grayson’s rambling in that way that normally serves to make Damian calm, but right now, all it does is get on his nerves. “I have a feeling we’ll be seeing a lot more of her- Especially after all of _that-_ ” -he doesn’t elaborate, and Damian isn’t sure he _wants_ him to. 

The elevator dings and tells them they’ve reached the penthouse’s main floor, so Grayson rolls Damian over to the kitchen. Without a word, he starts milling about, setting a kettle of water on the stove and dishing out two mugs onto the counter. On his tiptoes, he reaches up for the higher cupboards, and pulls down a new box of Oreo cookies. He sends back a sheepish grin as he does it, putting a finger to his lips as if to say, _It’s our secret._

Damian watches it all with a raised brow. 

He should’ve stayed in bed. 

The kettle whistles and Grayson pours a decent amount of water into each mug, before tearing open two packets of powder and pouring them in. With one hand, he pulls open a drawer and grabs two spoons, dropping them into the mugs as he shuts the drawer with his hip. The Oreos get dropped into Damian’s lap, and the mugs are gathered into Grayson’s hands. 

“Think you can roll yourself over to the couch?” Grayson asks. 

“Obviously,” Damian huffs back.

Grayson dishes the two mugs out onto the coffee table, plucking the Oreos from Damian’s lap and carelessly dropping them beside their drinks. Then, he settles beside Damian and holds out his hands. “Is it going to hurt you if I set you on the couch?” he asks, words laced with something- 

They’re laced with something Damian’s still getting used to- laced with raw _worry_ and without a single hint of judgement. 

Damian hazards a nod, and carefully swallows his groans and cries when Grayson does his best to place Damian on the couch without jostling his back. He’s not that successful, but Damian doesn’t let him know it hurts. 

Once Grayson’s curled up on the couch beside Damian, and the TV is on, Damian asks, “What did you want to talk about?” 

Grayson’s arm, thrown carelessly around the back of the couch right behind Damian, twitches. “Whenever you get- _upset,_ for lack of a better word… You seem to be a lot more- uh, okay. I know something’s bothering you. Do you want to talk about it?” 

_No,_ Damian thinks, and he turns his attention to the movie. It’s something animated.

Ugh. 

Talking with Grayson feels like it’d be better than watching _this._

“Nothing’s wrong, Grayson,” Damian replies, sharply. “Nothing that wasn’t already wrong _before._ ”

Grayson stays silent for a moment after that, seemingly busy watching some girl on the screen sing about how much _better_ life can get. “So,” he says, levelly, “it’s _not_ your back?” 

No, he supposes not. As utterly _frustrated_ as he is with how bad it aches- as utterly _annoyed_ as he is with his own inherent uselessness- he _knows_ the real problem at hand. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he _supposes_ that he should. 

Shouldn’t he?

Damian sits on the couch, back carefully straight- (perfect posture has always been beaten into him, but even _now_ he’s not sure if it’s to keep it from _aching_ or not)- and neck stiff from the cast. He sits on the couch, and very pointedly tries not to think of that blasted _clone_ and his words, his lack of grammar doing nothing to soften the punch placed upon him. 

“Father’s clone,” Damian says, and then slaps his jaw shut. 

“B’s clone?” Grayson prompts. Then, softer, he says, “It’s okay to say whatever it is you wanna say, kiddo.” 

Perhaps it is. Perhaps it isn’t.

Perhaps he’s only drawing meaningless attention to himself for no reason other than some stupid, creeping _weakness_ that can’t leave him alone. 

“He said- He told me something, once he and I were alone in the bunker,” Damian carefully words, trying his damnedest not to let his voice quiver. Hearing it had hurt and thinking about it had worsened the wound, but _saying it aloud_ makes it feel like it’d be _true._ And, even with Damian’s inner turmoil, Grayson sits by his side and urges him to continue on. 

“The clone told me,” Damian continues, peering down at his hands as if they’re plenty more interesting than the girl on the screen, speaking to her non-human companions, “that I was Father’s biggest mistake.” 

Even with the song roaring in the background, the silence is _deafening._

When Grayson doesn’t dare utter a word, Damian wants to pick himself up and _run._ He knows he won’t make it much more than a few steps, but- _God._ He wants to try, because he’d rather be _anywhere but here._

He’d rather be with Mother- where at least, she’d get quick to the point and leave Damian to drown. The silence only feels like twisting the knife stuck in his side, and hearing Grayson finally _speak_ feels like having the knife ripped from his skin. 

“You don’t- You don’t actually _believe_ that- do you?” 

“So what if I do?” Damian can’t stop himself from asking. “It’s _true,_ isn’t it?” 

Grayson grabs at the remote and claps off the TV, before he turns to fully face Damian. “ _No,_ Dames- It’s _not_ true!” he cries, almost incredulously. “Why- Why in the _world_ would you assume-” 

“He didn’t want me around, before he- he got-” What-? Before he _died?_ They both know that there’s a small chance Father isn’t dead. “Before he _disappeared._ ” 

The silence comes back tenfold, and it’s only broken when Grayson grabs at Damian’s hands and shifts so that Damian has no choice but to look straight at him. “Bruce _never_ thought you were a _mistake,_ Damian. I- I know that, at times, it didn’t really feel like he- Bruce was _difficult_ to get to know, okay? I _know_ that. I _know_ that he tends to be brash and kind of emotionally distant, but- He _loved_ you, Damian. He really, really _loved_ you.” 

Damian wants to ask, so badly, _how can you be sure?_

He doesn’t. 

Instead, he lets Grayson wrap him up in a hug, and for the first time in _days-_ Damian’s back doesn’t ache.


End file.
